The Soul Obeys
by jennyfair
Summary: Unable to abandon her Angel of Music, Christine returns to Erik following the events of the final lair. These are snap-shots of the story that follows - a life in miniature. E/C, ALW-based AU.
1. Death and the Maiden

_A/N: This is probably the most "me" thing I've ever written - the purest, most concentrated version of my style, with zero apologies. My dream chapter fic condensed into my signature format, a one-shot (with a few more related one-shots to follow). I love it and I hope you'll enjoy it, as well._

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 **Death and the Maiden**

When I first learned that my Angel of Music was a man, little had I known how true that would be. Erik was thinner than he should be, impossibly pale, extraordinarily ugly...and yet, remarkably human all the same. In the early months of our marriage I learned every inch of his earthly frame - counted each scar, explored every sinewy muscle, even discovered (to his dismay) that a ghost could be ticklish. Given the sparse strands on his head, I was surprised by the coarse, dark hair that trailed down from his chest between his legs, leading to that most intimate part of him. It frightened me, at first - the raw, physical evidence of his desire for me - but as ignorance turned to understanding, it became a source of endless delight for both of us.

Though he had held himself apart from the world for so long, swearing off the weaknesses of mankind, Erik's needs were the same as other men. I made it my mission to fulfill them - to nourish his body and stimulate his mind, stroke his ego and soothe his hurts. I gave him my heart, my voice, my body. While he came to me countless times as a husband to his wife, shuddering with long-denied pleasure as I cradled him deep within me, I knew that it was those quiet moments after when I held him in my arms, kissing his wretched face and murmuring my love for him, that did the most to begin healing decades of pain and self-loathing.

He had thought me a dream when I returned to him, but in time I would show him that his own Angel was a mere mortal, as well. A woman with needs and faults - sensitive, sometimes fickle. Desiring his attention and approval yet her independence all the same. Erik learned all of me, in turn, uncovering a side of myself that had lain hidden beneath layers of grief. Awoken after what felt like an eternity of sleep, I sought him out just as frequently, desperate to be brought back to life by his touch, to join with him in that primal duet until I no longer knew where my body ended and his began. He was astonished the first time I trembled and sobbed in ecstasy in his embrace, but soon mastered the art of pleasing me as he would any other skill. I became his favorite instrument, and he loved to coax new songs from my throat with his cold hands and twisted mouth.

It was not always simple, living like everybody else. After a lifetime of solitude and darkness, Erik crawled back out into the light, determined to rejoin the world of men…but a home above-ground and a wife to warm it were not the miraculous panacea he had imagined them to be. There were still days that I would lose him to his music or dark thoughts, nights when he would torment himself with memories of the past. There were moments of cruelty, of biting sarcasm and suspicion that his bride could not possibly be true to the monster to whom she had chained herself. The path to redemption was a difficult one, fraught with new challenges to be overcome at each turn. But while time did not heal all wounds, it diminished them, made them easier to bear.

As the decades passed his humanity became more apparent - his once lithe and powerful frame withering, the dark patches of his hair fading to gray then white. Years of neglect had taken their toll, stealing precious time from both of us. It was a pity to watch the bright flame of his life dwindle down to a faintly glowing ember, but Erik's sharp mind never dulled. Ever-pragmatic, he begged his still-young bride to forget him and begin a new life, unburdened by an ugly old man. With matching stubbornness, I refused to leave him, remaining by his side until the bitter end. I was his wife and would be his widow, regretting neither.

Nonetheless, I wept for days after my Angel of Music returned to heaven, struggling to remember and obey his final commandment to me - to live on, not to quiet my soul's song after his had been silenced. I buried him with his _Don Juan Triumphant_ and the ring he had given me, per his instructions. I spent hours stroking his cheeks, now both sunken and skeletal, before laying the mask in place a final time. He was a striking figure, even in death. It was a wonder how much life had been contained in the wiry frame of a man who had called himself a corpse and entombed himself deep below the earth years before his appointed time.

It was tempting beyond measure to send my voice into the grave alongside him, a treasure to ease his journey to the afterlife like the kings of old, but he would not have wished it. His music comforted me in his absence, my mind conjuring up his otherworldly tenor as I sang alone, my only accompaniment the piano he had taught me so painstakingly to play. Grief was my bosom companion for a year, yet I knew that Erik did not want me to suffer the same life of solitude he had known for too long, to cocoon myself in a black veil of mourning forever.

I reemerged into the world as he once had and, in spite of my doubts and previous protestations, remarried. Marcel was a kind man, an _homme d'affaires_ with no particular talent of his own but who enjoyed the arts and encouraged me to fill our home with music. Even so, he did not question the tears that came unbidden to my eyes at the sound of a violin. Did not press when I refused to sing for any of our guests, fearful of reviving society's memory of the Swedish soprano who had vanished from the Opéra Populaire all those years ago. A widower himself, we did not begrudge each other the pieces of our hearts that had died along with our first spouses. It was a different sort of love - a warm, crackling fire, a stark contrast to the inferno of Erik's devotion that had burned to beautiful ash.

There were no children from either of our previous marriages. I had accepted motherhood as an impossibility, but to our joy and surprise, I bore him a baby girl. Renée was the light of the latter halves of our lives. Marcel taught her reason and practicality, while I passed down the folk songs and fairy tales of my homeland and saw my father in her wide-eyed wonder. Wanting to shelter her from the pain of my past, I wove the truth into bedtime stories of a princess and her three suitors - the mariner, the maestro, and the merchant. Hers would be a life of security and relative comfort, free from the want and instability of my own childhood.

I watched our daughter grow into a fine young woman as age stole my own beauty, celebrated her marriage as Fate made me a widow a second time over. The passing years tarnished my once-golden throat and chipped away at my mind, weaving together my fables and reality until I could no longer distinguish between the two. The child became the mother, brushing my silver hair and tucking my threadbare red scarf around my shoulders to ward off the chill of evening. She smiled patiently when I asked which of the suitors the princess chose, and hid her shining eyes when I wondered where her father was. There were other questions she could not answer, about the Vicomte de Changy and the Opera Ghost, a wind-swept seashore and a candle-lit lake underground.

The change of seasons was irresistible, autumn to winter. While my love for him remained evergreen in my heart long after his body had returned to dust, the memory of Erik's voice gradually faded over time, like my father's had before. But as my days grew fewer, I heard those sublime tones once more - my fallen Angel made flesh, descending one final time to sing me to my rest.


	2. Jealousy

_A/N: Originally posted to Tumblr last summer, but always intended to be part of this headcanon/AU. A few small edits here and there. Disclaimer: jealousy is only hot in fic, not in real life...but in fic, it can be VERY hot ;)_

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 **Jealousy**

"Do you miss him, Christine? Do you long for your young man when your monster is inside you?"

As the months bled into years, doubt remained Erik's constant companion, persisting through my best efforts to prove my devotion to him alone. One afternoon he found the red scarf I had secreted away in some forgotten drawer - a relic of my former life that I had been unable to part with. The reminder of his once-rival stirred the darkness within him, and nothing could assuage it other than flesh and racing blood, the mindless comfort of release.

I kept my gaze fixed on my husband and all his ugliness as he fell into my embrace, my body welcoming his eagerly even as my mind railed against the demons that still haunted him. Gasping his name, I swore that he was the only one to occupy my thoughts, but my fervent denials weakened with each thrust. I wound my limbs around him to pull him closer in spite of his cutting accusations. His cruel tongue teased at my ear, his calloused fingertips strumming an incessant rhythm between my thighs, bringing me to the edge of madness. At last I gave in and closed my eyes, my protests transforming into a wordless cry of pleasure that was soon joined by his own.

We both wept afterwards, and our tears mingled as he buried his poor head in the hollow of my shoulder. He was always penitent, always begged my forgiveness following moments like this, when he was pierced by the claws of jealousy and old insecurities. I could only hold him while his passion cooled and the bitterness drained from him, leaving my broken, beloved Erik in their wake.


	3. Regret

_A/N: Originally posted to Tumblr. Angst with a side of sweetness._

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 **Regret**

"Do you regret the life I couldn't give you, Christine?"

We walk our typical route through the park on a gray Sunday afternoon - a less popular trail, with fewer flowers but fewer people, as well. Today is a rare exception, and my grip tightens on Erik's elbow as I spot a family ahead. The mother pushes a pram while two older children trail obediently behind, replicas of their father in varying sizes. Hats are tipped, vague pleasantries exchanged as they pass by us without incident. As if we we belong there as much as they do.

My free hand unconsciously strays to my stomach - while my dancer's body has softened over the years, it has never swelled with child. There was a pregnancy, once, ending in blood and tears before I ever felt the stirring of new life beneath my heart. We grieved in different ways. Erik banished himself from our bed, shut himself away with his music while swearing to tame his baser instincts. At first I didn't mind the solitude, too numb to truly notice...but eventually feeling returned, his absence became intolerable, and I begged him to come back to me. He relented, cursing his weakness as I drowned my sorrow in sweat astride his narrow hips.

The brush of Erik's cold fingers against my cheek forces my mind back to the present. He watches me, eyes gentle yet still seeking an answer, still fearing what it might be. "Do you resent me for it?"

I gaze up at my husband, studying him although I know every inch by rote - the mask he engineered to more closely resemble flesh, the newer wig streaked with gray mirroring his own faded strands beneath. These are his gifts to me, as much as the fineries he loves to lavish on his bride. Our path to this moment has been far from conventional, but it is ours, and we have traveled it together.

"Never, my love."


	4. Fear

_A/N: Written for a mini fic prompt on Tumblr:#18 - you said when you were scared_

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 **Fear**

As time wore on and Erik's strength waned, I came to dread any sign of illness. Each new ache or pain was cause for alarm. Every cough, an ill omen. He shrugged off his wife's overbearing attentions, quick to remind me that he had survived far worse than a head cold. Though he always meant it as a reassurance, there was bitter truth behind his teasing - I could recite the size and shape of his many scars from memory, and had wept to hear the tales he had told of their acquisition.

Still, I tried to take his words to heart. When Erik made mention of a slight fever, I demurred. Said nothing when he refused to join me for supper or complained about the heat of the fire from across the room. By the next morning, his burning body was wracked with chills and my mind with guilt, all of my pent-up worry rushing free in an overwhelming wave. Fetching a doctor was out of the question, so I did what I could - kept him cool with damp cloths, spoon-fed him the same herbal remedies I had used to soothe my father in his final days.

That night, exhausted, I joined my husband in the sweat-soaked sheets of our bed. There was nothing else to be done but wait and pray for the fever to break. When I awoke after a fitful sleep, it was with tears in my eyes, having dreamt that my worst fears had been realized. His thin frame was cool and still next to mine.

"What shall I do without you?" I sobbed into his chest, wringing his nightshirt in my fists and willing him to hear me. "I've forgotten how to be alone."

"As have I."

His voice was little more than a harsh rasp, but in that moment, it had never been more beautiful.


	5. Galatea

_A/N: Written for a fic prompt on Tumblr, "I think I forgot how to breathe". A prequel._

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 **Galatea**

"Christine, how did you find me?"

I shook my head, tears of relief clouding my vision and tightening my throat. There would be time later to explain all that had happened since that fateful night. How I had begged Raoul to return to Paris for any sign that my fallen Angel had escaped the mob's wrath. How Meg had shown me the mask and I had pleaded with her mother to confess everything she knew.

"If you will not say how, then... _why_?"

In the weeks we had spent apart, I had pondered Erik's question a hundred times over...and its answer had led me here, to his arms. I smiled up at the dear, ruined features I had feared never to see again.

"I was made of stone when you first came to me. I'd forgotten how to feel, how to breathe. You made me flesh again - brought me back to life."

Erik stared down at me, slender fingers trembling as they stroked my cheek. I caught his hand and pressed my lips to the ring I had returned to him, selfishly pleased that he still wore it.

"I've held you in my dreams, just like this, so many times."

Though his eyes were fixed on mine, he seemed to doubt his own senses. I clung to him, reassuring myself that he was real even as he accused me of being a figment of his imagination.

"Perhaps this is all another vision, a cruel trick of the mind..."

Lifting myself on my toes, I kissed him for the third time, heart filled to bursting at the thought that we would someday lose count.

"Then let me wake you."


End file.
